Get Over It
by streco
Summary: A song from the Workshop of RENT between Mark and Maureen. Mark comes to fix the equipment and throws himself upon Maureen, wanting her back, but Maureen doesn’t. They sing at each other angrily. Marksided MarkMaureen, AngryJoanne MoJo. Two shot.
1. Lonely, Bored, and Horny

1_**Get Over It**_

So I found the workshop version of RENT and basically shat myself in excitement. Then I found this song that I figured I could have fun with... called "Get Over It." I'm not sure if I'll do BOTH of their POVs, but for now I'm just going to do Mark because, like Roger, I like to torture him :) What can I say, I'm a masochist:D

_**Summary:**_ A song from the Workshop of RENT between Mark and Maureen. Mark comes to fix the equipment and throws himself upon Maureen, wanting her back, but Maureen doesn't. They sing at each other angrily.

So this takes place _in _place of "Tango: Maureen."

Marksided MarkMaureen, AngryJoanne MoJo

1. Lonely, Bored, and Horny

Cautiously, I strolled into The Space and looked for Maureen, who seemed to be talking to herself. She was pacing, a hand to her chin, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a tanktop. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she was clearly stressed—she didn't look near ready for her performance. "Last night I had a..." she walked over to the equipment and winced as it sparked. "It's times like these I really appreciate..."

Gracefully, I tripped over something and fell flat on my face before quickly recovering and hopping to my feet. "Mark!" she squealed, running down the steps as I dusted myself off. "Dear, I'm so glad you're here!" She pulled me into a hug. "Honey, baby, you've lost some weight!" She noticed, separating (much to my displeasure) and held me at an arm's length, "I mean, you always looked great..."

"I try, Maureen," I told her, rolling my eyes and walking by her. Yes, it was true, I'd lost weight. Ever since the two of us had separated—or, ahem, been _dumped_—I hadn't been the same... ask Roger. He basically has to force things down my throat so I don't starve myself.

"Back when we used to date—" she began, but I cut her off.

"You lie, Maureen," I accused, annoyed and angry at her for doing this to me.

"Now let's not get irate..."

"_Why_, Maureen?" Didn't she just love a good fight? Or was it the attention? My memory jogged and I desperately clung to it, missing Maureen, missing her touch, her body, her love, her sex... every aspect of her made my heart ache again, the wounds ripping open once again.

"Joanne ran for the cable," she muttered softly with an almost apologizing tone. I was happy she changed the subject, "but of course she's late!" She added a bit of humor, but I didn't laugh.

"I don't know why I even try, Maureen," I shook my head and walked back over to the equipment, placing down my messenger bag and wiping my eyes beneath my glasses. Why _did _I try anymore? She didn't love me, no matter how much I begged... but it couldn't hurt to try, could it? I decided that, yes, I would try begging.

"My samples won't delay," she informed me, motioning to a few of the knobs and switches grandly, "but my cable—"

"There's another way," I stopped her, looking into her beautiful eyes on her beautiful face framed by her beautiful hair. "Say something... anything," I demanded, turning back to her equipment, catching a glimpse of her beautiful body before doing so. I hoped she hadn't seen me checking her out—I didn't want to give her that kind of satisfaction.

She stepped up to the microphone and sang in her _beautiful _voice, "Test one, two—one, two, three!"

Her soft, sweet voice triggered so many memories and good times that it was painful, so I croaked out, "Anything but that!" and stood up, covering my hands over my ears. After I'd calmed down, I glared at her, the stupid masochist that she was. "Tell me what it's like!" I shouted at her, catching her off-guard.

"What?" she asked, confused. She walked over to me and gingerly took my hands off of my ears. Her face was full of concern—excuse me as I snicker and mutter _bullshit_—as she tried to figure out what I was talking about.

"With a girl!" I answered in a "DUH!" voice. "Tell me what it's like for a girl and a girl!" I figured that this would frustrate her, or make her angry, or make her tell me how much better it was with men. Or at least bring up the "us" subject.

"No way!" she screamed, shaking her head and backing away. She walked back to a piece of abstract writing she was dealing with.

"Tell me, or I walk away!" I warned, for she knew that she was nothing without me. I was the technical genius, even smarter than Joanne, the spiffy lawyer/lover. I started to wonder if maybe that's all I was to Maureen—a tool. Literally.

"It's amazing," she answered breathlessly,

"Who's on top?" I challenged, getting the best of her and all the confusions of lesbiantry. "Who wears the pants? Who leads when you dance?" I got down to my knees quite dramatically—Maureen always was a sucker for drama—and looked up at her, my hands clenched together. "Give me one more chance, Maureen! This is just a phase, like girls and horses!" I remember when all she wanted was a horse. "And you never even wore flannel shirts! You'll get over it!"

"How's it going?" she asked, ignoring me.

"Not good—I'm depressed," I answered honestly, my voice a grunt.

"I meant the sampler!" she groaned.

"I'm adapting, repatching," I reported, crossing some wires and putting them in their right places. Joanne had done a lot more wrong than she had good, I concluded, looking at the wires that were in all the wrong places. Sighing, I dove right back in, my hands flying across and righting the wrongs that Joanne committed.

"Thank God, you're the best!" she cried dreamily, hugging me from behind.

"Ha!" I laughed coldly.

"Don't be depressed!" she tried to pinch my cheek—how could she honestly do it? It was too thin to do so—and kissed my cheek, leaving bright red lipstick in place. "Tell me how you've been!" she told me, which was kind of confusing—hadn't I already told her? I questioned why, and she answered, "'Cause I care! Tell me how you've been—God, time flies!" 

"Don't patronize," I moaned, stopping my work momentarily. I hated how she was bending down to my pathetic level, trying to make me feel better. I hated her for pitying me. It bothered me, a lot.

"Tell me!" she begged, dropping to her knees next to me, _literally _stooping to my level now. "We used to be friends!"

_Yeah, used to be. Back when you loved me. Or did you? Was it just for the attention, Maureen? _"I'm lonely," I started, putting white and white wires together, instead of the pale yellow and white combo that'd been before, "Bored," I added thoughtfully, and then tried to think of another adjective. Then thinking of my many nights alone in the bathroom... "And horny..." I concluded.

"Is there no one new?" she asked, standing up in a huff. "You need a mate! It's not too late! Have you had one date, boy? You just need some time, you'll be fine, Mark. Anyway, I treated you like dirt," she laughed, and how true was that? "You'll get over it," that wasn't nearly as true. "Just remember what you hate about me..." then she smiled seductively. "Though it may be hard."

I had been thinking the same thing.

"How can you be so content without me?" I asked, addressing her perkiness and happiness. "How can you disregard all we had?" And she did do that—she threw all of our memories clear out the window. Earlier about the flannel shirts? An inside joke that she didn't even acknowledge.

"Dysfunction!" She answered. And I remembered her once telling me that she was dysfunctional—she couldn't deal with social relations very well.

"All we said?" I asked.

"I'm over men!" she cried, almost randomly—did that answer my _question? _No. Not at all.

"All we did?"

"I slept around!" she shot almost proudly, almost boasting.

"And will again!" I accused. There was no way she'd stay faithful to some dickless woman who couldn't even get her pregnant with the children she dreamt to have. Either that or she'd get bored. "Tell me what you'll do!" I put my previous thought into action. She asked me when. "When you're bored. Tell me what you'll do when you're tired of girls."

"I won't!" she cried in her own defense.

Mmm_hmm._ "I'll tell you," I got right up in her face, basically spitting at her. "You'll run back to me!" Okay, maybe it was a little self-centered, but it seemed to make her laugh, and to see her face light up—even in my own expense—was totally worth it.

"Your fantasy," she cackled, rolling her eyes and clutching her sides.

"You always do!"

"Don't hold your breath."

_Too late, Mo, _I thought, _I've been doing so since you ended this. _"I know your kind," I shook my head, remembering her from all those years we were together, all the laughs we had, all of the good times that had us in tears, "...always change your mind..."

"_DON'T BE SO BLIND!_" Her angry screech echoed in the distance, coming back to me and haunting me. I hated seeing her angry, I hated being the cause of it, I hated myself. "Can't you see?" she asked brokenly, sitting down on the stage, "All my life I've known who I was meant to be." _So she KNEW she was meant to be a lesbian, and she fricking went and did this to me anyway?_

"But you never even liked K.D. Lang!"

"You'll get over it!" The two of us shouted at each other, butting heads once again. Our faces were so close that I almost wanted to kiss her, hard, passionately, and then wanted to seduce her right there on the floor of the frickin' Space. "This is just a fad, just a phase," I whispered into her ear. "You'll get over it."

"You just need to get laid!" Her tone was incredulous and she pushed me away. "You'll get over it," she repeated from before, walking in the other direction. "In time we'll laugh about this!" she predicted. "You'll get over it," she said once again, as if it wasn't clear to me. Oh, it was clear, transparently much so, but I didn't want to believe it.

"In time," I forebode in an almost whisper, my words venomous, "you'll _beg _for my kiss!"

"Don't bet on it!" she declared.

"Try it now," I reached toward her lips with my own, but she put a finger to them and said, "You'll get over it," and it echoed once again, this time more in my mind than anything. She gave me a huge hug and growled at my stubbornness of not hugging her back. Call it dedication, because I really did want to, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction at the same time.

"I'd call this cause for hope!" I cried gleefully.

"I would call this platonic," she answered in a "blah" tone, still hugging me. "Don't grope!" she moved my hands away from her ass.

Suddenly, there was the sound of bags dropping and Maureen pushed away from me quickly, chuckling nervously. "Honey!" She called in surprise. "You're back!" Then she looked from me to the equipment as Joanne's eyes went to the lipstick lips on my cheek to Maureen. "Um..." Maureen twisted around. "We're patched."

Then I flipped a switch on the equipment, walked over to the microphone, and said, "I love you too, Maureen," and walked off the stage.

_That's right, Maureen, _I thought, grinning to myself as I took my things and walked away, _we're patched, and my work here is done._

**A/N: **Please review!


	2. Stupid Albino Bastard

1_**Get Over It**_

Eh, I figured I'll have a little fun with Maureen too :) Same lyrics, blah-de-dah.

I just want to clarify here: I DON'T OWN THE SONG GET OVER IT. JONNY LARSON DOES. :)

And I think I just concluded that I like this song more than the "Tango." IDK why... I like the Workshop when Mark's all depressed and still loves Maureen. XD Didn't I tell you I was a masochist before?

Oh, and I must thank my wonderful Steph-friend (haha) MarksMaureen, who actually brought up the whole theory of Maureen "just being in relationships for attention." Sorry I didn't credit you before!

2. Stupid Albino Bastard

Thinking is hard work.

_No better day to realize that than today, _I thought. _Oh, the irony. _"Last night I had a... last night I had a..." I stopped pacing for a moment and looked up. "What the fuck did I have last night?!" I asked the sky, but no angel with a scroll came down and bestowed it upon me. At least I can say I tried, right? "Last night I had a..."

Then I walked over to my equipment, or whatever you'd like to call it after _Pookie _got into it. Sighing, I went to my knees and then came back up, repeating a phrase that had come to me a lot lately. "It's times like these I appreciate..."

There was a loud noise behind me, and I whipped around in a fighting stance, ready to attack, but instead, there was the man I was looking for... face down in the dirt. "Mark!" I cried, running down the steps and almost tripping as well. I flung myself into his arms. "I'm so glad you're here!" As I hugged him, I could basically feel his ribs pinching me. "Honey, baby! You've lost some weight! I mean, you always looked great..." _What happened? _I added mentally in my mind.

His face clearly wanted nothing to do with me, either that or he could act. "I try, Maureen," he rolled his eyes and pushed by me. Both he and I knew what we were talking about—I was trying to play it off like it was a good thing, _Oh, you always looked great before, now you look better_, but the truth was... he was getting thinner and thinner.

And he didn't even have to tell me this, either. Roger'd called me up multiple times in the night, "Maureen, he's not eating again," or, "Maureen, he tried to kill himself this morning, I don't know if I can take it," or, "Christ, Maureen, he's in tears so hard that he's throwing up in the bathroom," or, the most common, "I had to shove food down his throat again last night."

"Back when we used to date—" _You looked so healthy, and not so pale, and you were happy, and you were a healthy eater, and you never tried to kill yourself, and you always held your emotions in._

"You lie, Maureen," Mark cut me off, becoming angry as hell, putting down his bag and winding his scarf off of his neck. He didn't walk over to the equipment just yet, just kind of studied his things and made sure all of his stuff was there. How did I lie? It was all so true, if he would've let me finish.

"Now, let's not get irate..." I trailed off, chuckling a bit, trying to lighten the mood. He was so uptight, and I imagine that I must've caused him pain. That I was sorry for, but Mark just wasn't right for me in a relationship.

"_Why_, Maureen?" he basically shouted, and I don't think he realized he'd done so. He was almost starting to hyperventilate, breathing in hard and exhaling just as violently. I guess he wasn't obliging to my request, which was okay. It hurt me to see him this angry... and I didn't like being the cause of it, either.

"Joanne ran for the cable," I offered, motioning to the equipment and changing the subject. Then, I tried to make a funny, "but of course she's late!"

Mark snickered almost pitifully, then grabbed his bag and brought it over to the stuff, wiping his eyes before hand. I don't know if it was out of exhaustion or he was wiping away his tears, but either way I felt bad. "I don't know why I even try, Maureen," he said sadly.

"My samples won't delay," I changed the subject again, "but my cable—"

"There's another way," he cut me off. So he was gonna play that game? Alright, well maybe I could just totally lead him on and then crush his dreams. "Say something," he pointed to the microphone and made me walk over there, "anything."

Smirking to myself, I moseyed on up to the microphone. He was checking me out, and it was quite flattering, yet utterly hilarious at the same time. "Test one, two—one, two, three!" I sang, and Mark immediately clasped his hands over his ears, suddenly in pain or something. He jumped to his feet.

"Anything but that!" he pleaded in a teary voice, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he opened them and shot daggers at me, like it was my fault. "Tell me what it's like!" he screamed, his hands still over his ears. Instantly I was confused, I almost staggered backward and fell down the stairs of The Space.

"What?" I asked, walking over to him and removing his hands from his ears. Was he okay? Jeez.

"With a girl!" he cried, shaking his head, "Tell me what it's like for a girl and a girl!"

"No way!" Talk about _personal. _I shook my own head and walked back to my ideas notepad. _Last night I had a... a... a cow? No. _

"Tell me, or I walk away!" he threatened, and I reconsidered. Neither Pookie nor I could fix wires and do any of that for our lives.

Suddenly, Pookie in bed popped into my mind and I grinned, looking off into the distance. "It's amazing," I told him, out of breath from just thinking of it. If he thought it was going to do anything for himself, it was going to hurt him over all else. He looked angry at my response.

"Who's on top?" he got right up in my face. "Who wears the pants? Who leads when you dance?" I had asked the same thing. "Give me one more chance, Maureen! This is just a phase, like girls and horses! And you never even wore flannel shirts!" I almost laughed at that, an inside joke we'd had for a long time, plus a factual statement, but I didn't. "You'll get over it," he decided.

"How's it going?" I asked, not acknowledging him but the equipment instead.

"Not good—I'm depressed," he uttered. That certainly hurt me... my heart started to ache with compassion.

"I meant the sampler!" I groaned uncomfortably.

"I'm adapting, repatching," he relayed, diving back into the work.

"Thank God," I cried, relieved that this was finally coming together. "You're the best!" I hugged him from behind, and instantly his shoulders loosened up. I massaged his shoulders a bit, my breath tickling his neck. He seemed prone to that, so I stopped.

"Ha!" he laughed emotionlessly.

"Don't be depressed!" I pleaded, grinning and pinched his cheek as best as I could (it was so thin) and then kissed it, leaving my trademark red lips on his right cheek. He seemed to turn red himself when I did it, so I figured I was getting somewhere. "Tell me how you've been!"

"Why?" he asked, as if it didn't matter.

"'Cause I care!" I answered, "Tell me how you've been—God, time flies!"

"Don't patronize," he moaned.

So I did just that, naturally. I came to my knees. "Tell me! We used to be friends!"

"I'm lonely," he began, fixing some of the wires and then moving to the cable, "bored," he added, and then after thinking for a bit, decided, "and horny." I almost burst out into a fit of laughter, but then all of a sudden I was very very angry.

"Is there no one new?" I stood up quickly, running a hand through my ponytail. "You need a mate! It's not too late! Have you even had one date, boy?" Wasn't he best friends with Roger? Couldn't he get him tons of chicks? "You just need some time," I decided calmly, "you'll be fine, Mark. Anyway, I treated you like dirt," I tried to go at it from a dis-yourself view, "You'll get over it. Just remember what you hate about me... though it may be hard!"

There I was again, being a huge flirt. If Pookie was around and saw me doing this, she'd flip out and leave me, again. "How can you be so content without me?" Which was sort of surprising—my happiness totally clashed with his depression. Maybe because I was just sick of him? "How can you disregard all we had?"

Did I have to tell him this all the time? "Dysfunction!" I reminded.

"All we said?"

Now I was angry with him. "I'm over men!"

"All we did?"

"I slept around!" I revealed to him, though I'm sure he'd known. I hated hurting him, I hated doing this to him, why all of a sudden was I mad at myself? I wanted to lie down and cry myself to sleep now.

"And will again!" he foretold, now firing insults at me. "Tell me what you'll do!" he demanded, abandoning his work and now standing up. I asked him when. "When you're bored! Tell me what you'll do when you're tired of girls!" _What _was he _talking _about? How could I tire of girls in general? Sure, I could tire of Mark, and Pookie, but the whole genre of women? No.

"I won't!"

"I'll tell you," he got _right _up to me, so close that we were almost kissing—out of impulse I almost wanted to do so—and narrowed his blue eyes at me. "You'll run back to me!"

I laughed. I couldn't help it, I started cracking up. "Your _fantasy!_"

"You always do!"

"Don't hold your breath!"

He shook his head. "I know your kind," he backed away from me in a moment, "always change your mind..."

This made me terribly angry. "_DON'T BE SO BLIND!_" How could he try to do this to me? Try to make me feel bad? I already felt terrible about those calls that Roger gave me, almost each night at the same time. "Can't you see?" I asked him, retiring to the steps up to The Space. "All my life I've known who I was meant to be!" I immediately regretted saying so—it sounded like I was using him or something.

"But you never even liked K.D. Lang!"

Then, all of a sudden, our foreheads were back together, and the two of us shouted at each other, "You'll get over it!" at the same time. He'd get over me, I'd supposedly get over my love of women. "This is just a fad, just a phase," Mark told me, "You'll get over it.

"You just need to get laid!" I cried, incredulous, and pushed him away, turning around and walking in the opposite direction. "You'll get over it. In time," I decided, "we'll laugh about this! You'll get over it!" I cried again. He followed me, though, and forced me to spin around, facing him.

"In time," he mocked my words, "you'll _beg _for my kiss!"

I laughed again. "Don't bet on it!"

A third time our faces were inches apart, his breath smelling like spearmint, his hair smelling like that stupid shampoo he always used. "Try it now," he dared me, leaning forward to kiss me, but I couldn't do this. I'd already ended it. I didn't want to rekindle new flames. I loved Pookie now, right? Yes. I was in love with Joanne.

"You'll get over it..." I put a finger to his lips and told him again, but then I dragged him into a hug to make him feel better. When he didn't hug me back, I growled at his stupid stubbornness.

"I'd call this cause for hope!" he cried happily.

I knitted my eyebrows together. "I would call this platonic," I used a more fitful word. Then, all of a sudden, his hands were on my ass. "Don't grope!" I shoved them off.

There was the sound of items dropping on the ground and quickly I turned and shoved Mark's body away from mine. "Honey!" I declared in surprise, wiping myself off. "You're back!" Then I hurried down the steps and helped her bring the bags back. Joanne's eyes went from me to the lips on Mark's cheek and then to my smudged lipstick. "Um... we're patched."

Turning around, I mouthed three words to Mark: _I hate you._

He grinned, took his things, flipped a switch and crooned, "I love you too, Maureen," and walked away.

Stupid albino bastard.

**A/N: **Meh, I didn't have as much fun with Maureen. She doesn't have a mind and thinking process that's easy to poke fun at.

Oh, and I have a question: is there another book of RENT, about the OBC? There's a quote in it:

"Holy cow, who's the smiley blond kid?" that's Taye Diggs about Adam Pascal, and then Adam Pascal saying: "Fuck these guys, they can't make up their minds, they've seen me three times!" Haha, I've heard many people quote it, but they don't specify the book!

Just an FYI: I changed the end of the last chapter a bit, go check it out, it makes this make more sense.

Is there a CD or something of the Workshop version? Because **Overthemoon2139** said they were listening to "Get Over It" as they read this... and I was too impatient for them to respond to my PM :)

Anyway, thanks for reading and I think I'm gonna write a lot more of the workshop songs.

THANKS, REVIEW!

–Steph.


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